July 13, 2011: What Makes Community Healthy and Strong

Dear Friends:

I am happy to share with you my sermon from this past week, July 8.
Have a great week,

R Brian


When Joe and I came to Vermont, we closed on the house in April, but did not actually move in until June. The first day, If went down to pick up all the accumulated junk mail. I started to explain that we were newcomers to the area, but before I could give my address, the postmistress cut me off and said: “OK, so which one are you, Brian or Joe?” I have to admit: Joe and I were a little concerned, as two men living together in the woods, coming from the big city. How would our closest neighbors down the dirt road treat us? What about the other townspeople? Several months later, some grease spilled inside the oven and set off the smoke detector. Within minutes, the chief of the volunteer fire department, whom we had never met, appeared on our doorstep: “Ayeh… ah see you burned yer brekfest.” We soon learned that in rural Vermont, especially out where we are, everyone may know your business, and no one will pry into your affairs uninvited. However, as soon as an emergency arises, there they are in a flash, ready to help.

In this week’s Torah portion, Balak, King of Moab, wishes to destroy Israel. Balak sends for Bilaam, the most renowned pagan sorcerer of his day, to cast a hex upon the Israelites. Bilaam ascends the mountain overlooking their desert encampment, ready to denounce them. He opens his mouth, but instead of damnation, out comes some of the most glorious poetry in the entire Bible, beginning with the famous verse: Mah tovu ohaleicha Yaakov mishkenotecha Yiraeil, “How goodly are your tents, O Jacob, your dwellings, O Israel!” (Numbers 24:5) What is it that Bilaam beholds that transforms his censure into praise? The text reads: “Bilaam raised his eye and saw Israel dwelling tribe by tribe, and the spirit of God came upon him.” (Numbers 24:2) What is it about the scene that transports him so, that the spirit of God comes upon him?

Mah tovu, Bilaam exclaims, “how goodly are your tents, O Jacob.” He could have said: “how fair are your tents, Jacob;” instead, he says: mah tovu, “how goodly,” as in, hinei mah tov u-manayim shevet achim gam yachad. (Psalm 133:1) The word tov, “good,” points not to exterior beauty, but to interior beauty, not to aesthetic loveliness, but to ethical good. Reading further along in the verse, we arrive at two parallel phrases: “how goodly are your tents, O Jacob, your dwellings, O Israel.” Biblical poetry generally employs the literary device of parallelism to heighten or underline a particular meaning. In this case, what does the second line, “your dwellings O Israel,” add to the first, “your tents O Jacob?” The word “tents” has no special connotation, whereas the word for “dwellings” in Hebrew, mishkenot, immediately conjures up the Mishkan, the desert sanctuary wherein dwells the Presence of God. As for the contrasting terms, Jacob and Israel, they both refer to the same person. Jacob is his commonplace name, whereas Israel is the name conferred upon him after he wrestles with the angel, indicative of profound spiritual transformation. Taken as a whole, the parallel construction of the verse directs the listener’s attention away from a merely physical description of the Israelite camp and toward the underlying spiritual condition of the Israelite community and its connection to God.

What feature of Israelite society renders it so ethically good, so spiritually healthy, that Bilaam’s curse changes instantly to blessing? According to the Talmud, “Bilaam saw that the portals of their tents were not aligned one opposite another, so he said, these people are worthy that the Shechinah, the Divine Presence, should rest upon them.” (bBaba Batra 60a) (By the way, note the lovely word play the Talmud makes between Shechinah and mishkenotecha in the phrase mishkenotecha Yisra’eil, “your dwellings O Israel.”) Let’s remember that the Israelite camp must have resembled a modern-day RV park. You would have to erect your tent inches away from your neighbor’s, but you positioned your doorway so that it was impossible to look directly inside hers. That’s what Bilaam notices. He notices that the encampment’s layout is configured to preserve the privacy of its residents, despite the close quarters they live in. The Israelite community, like its small-town counterpart in rural Vermont, finds a way to respect the dignity of each family. Everyone may know everyone’s business, but everyone maintains a “live and let live” attitude. Let’s look again at the two parallel phrases: “your tents, O Jacob,” and “your dwellings, O Israel.” In this context, “tent” may refer to the physical exterior of the home, whereas “dwelling” may refer to what goes on inside the home. “Jacob” refers to the individual, whereas “Israel” refers to the people at large. Taken as a whole, “how goodly are your tents, O Jacob, your dwellings, O Israel,” extols the society for balancing its public needs and the private welfare of its citizens. Therein lies its ethical and spiritual wholesomeness.

Actually, I think we can take the Talmud’s image of the Israelite compound one step further. By reading the Talmud’s description metaphorically, we come up with an even more basic determination of what makes a community spiritually strong—besides the fact that it upholds modesty and discretion as supreme virtues. The Talmud states: “the portals of their tents were not aligned one opposite another.” In Hebrew, the word for aligned is mechuvvanim, which also means “directed” or “intended,” as in the word kivvun, “direction [of a compass],” and kavvanah, “intention.” The description ein mechuvvanim, “not aligned,” connotes a group of people with different directions in life, different intentions. In English we might use the expression: “they do not see eye to eye.” Nevertheless, the members still band together to form community. That is what strikes Bilaam as so praiseworthy. According to the symbolic interpretation of “the portals of their tents were not aligned,” Bilaam perceives that a motley collection of separate individuals with disparate demands and desires can still come together for the common good. Respect for privacy is merely the outward manifestation of a much more fundamental value, namely, appreciation for nonconformity. We have here the essence of pluralism.

My blessing for JCOGS, for this community as well as for every community in which we may take part, is not only the ethical goodliness that comes from a “live and let live” attitude but the spiritual strength that comes from real diversity. May we not merely tolerate our differences; may we celebrate them.